Sometimes I put on a mask,And it fits so well,That I forget who I really am.I act through the mask,I speak with its mouth,My hands move as though they were his.The mask becomes me,And I become him,Together we change who we are.Often I find,That the mask stays on,Well after everyone’s gone.I think aloud to myself,“How strange,”“None of them really know who I am.”It would pain me sometimes to show myself,From behind the façade,I so casually wore.I would be the “real me,”My defenses all down,And hope for accepting from all.It was strange though,What would happen next,And I would always feel so rejected and sad.These people I knew,The ones I trusted and loved,Those I felt comfortable showing the real me to.They would tease me,They couldn’t understand me,They would walk away and it showed me that I wasn’t even worth talking to.So my mask would go on,That way I could forget,And it seemed everyone else could too.But I was wrong,And it took me so long,To understand why they did what they did.You see, the mask,The focus of the story,Isn’t a mask at all.Not one that can be seen at least,And its intentions can’t be known,The sarcasm that drips through it isn’t filtered.So my dearest friends,Only could see me at face value,Mask on, or off.They grew to know me,As the man in the mask,And accepted him for all of his faults.It was only when I wasn’t that man,When my loved ones,Didn’t recognize who they were talking to,It was then they reacted,And then that they fled.Because they believed who they saw wasn’t real.Now I’ve learned,And I’ve grown,My blinders come off.I speak one mind,Through one set of lips,With one desired goal.Or, do I?I wonder aloud to myself,As I introspectively reflect on who I am.No.I realize as I hear the church bells chime twelve,No.Because this mask I wear,Fits so well,I don’t even know if its on.Or, what if, worse yet,Who I think I am,Is the mask I put on.